PATIENT 100
by PaintByGinger
Summary: PATIENT 100. Kirkland, Arthur. 17. London, England. Schizoaffective Disorder. Dramatic mood swings, depression, hallucinations, suicide risk. Note: It is not yet known if hallucinations are caused by illness or substance abuse. Monitor PATIENT 100 closely
1. Prologue

So, I wrote this story about a year ago and I'm just re-vamping it now (apparently). Sorry about that! A few changes from the original format of the story will be grammatical things and pairings, I think. I know I said USUK but I've just fallen out of like with that pairing (I prefer FrUK). Therefore, it will eventually, most likely, be FrUK. If that saddens you, I apologize. You don't need to read this story if you're not up for it. Stick around and try it out? If you find yourself too bummed out over the different pairing, please don't leave me an angry PM. Simply close the page and we'll both be on our ways. I'm not sure if it's going to be overly romantic yet. The story will be Arthur-centric, but he's interacting most of the time. I urge you to wait the story out as opposed to quitting just because of the pairing. But hey, if it's not your cup of tea it's not your cup of tea.

Also, I really don't want to offend anyone with this story. I can't really say I've suffered from any of these illnesses, except depression. I'm doing research on the diseases but if I get something wrong or I'm not portraying something in the right way, please let me know. This story was partially inspired by depressing songs (Pills by Charlotte Martin) and the book Get Well Soon by Julie Halpern. Also, it might be a let-out for depression feelings. I don't know how dark it'll get or how it'll end.

I'm not sure how much I'll update since Junior year is hell, but I'll try (or I might go another year without writing anything. Hopefully not). This is un-Beta-ed and may have errors (I apologize!). Thanks for reading!

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><p><strong>PROLOGUE<strong>

The office is void of inhabitance. The door, however, is uncharacteristically swinging open. Inside, papers are in disarray, littering the floor in a blanket of white and scrawled black ink. Books are strewn about carelessly. Tracks of mud streak across the plush beige rug, leaving permanent stains. The chair is still warm, from its last occupant. He seemed to have left in a hurry. On the desk sit _The Files_. They're the only objects in the office in some kind of order. Perfectly aligned, alphabetized. The Adolescent Ward patients.

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><p><strong>PATIENT 63<strong>

Arlovskaya, Natalia

14

Moscow, Russia

Borderline Personality Disorder

Self mutilation. Obession with_ PATIENT 61_. Clings. Unstable mood. Suicide risk.

Long blonde hair, average. Caucasian. Speaks well. No abnormal movements.

**Family: **Older half-brother _PATIENT 61_. Older half-sister_ PETIENT 62_. History, unknown

**Reason Admitted:** By foster parents for self mutilation and catatonic state without_ PATIENT 61_ (admitted before).

**PATIENT 40**

Beilschmidt, Gilbert

17

Berlin, Germany

Bipolar Disorder (Episodes of grandiosity and anger)

Albino. Caucasian. Speaks fast. Attached to bird "Gilbird". No abnormal movements.

**Family:** Younger brother_ PATIENT 39_. Lives with grandfather. Poor grades.

**Reason Admitted:** By grandfather who had earlier admitted_ PATIENT 39_. Viewed as unstable.

**PATIENT 39**

Beilschmidt, Ludwig

16

Berlin, Germany

Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder

Preoccupation with rules. Perfectionism. Stinginess. OCD. Rigidity. Panic attacks.

Short blond hair, muscular. Caucasian. Speaks well. No abnormal movements. OCD tendencies.

**Family:** Older brother_ PATIENT 40_. Lives with grandfather. Exemplary grades.

**Reason Admitted**: By grandfather, worried over OCD.

**PATIENT 19**

Bonnefoy, Francis

17

Paris, France

Histrionic Personality Disorder

Needs to be center of attention. Makes sexual advances often. Vain. Dramatic.

Blond hair, average. Caucasian. Speaks well. No abnormal movements. Flamboyant.

**Family:** No siblings. Lives with mother. Excellent grades.

**Reason Admitted**: Student claimed to be sexually assaulted by_ PATIENT 19_ at school. Alternative to jail.

**PATIENT 61**

Braginski, Ivan

17

Moscow, Russia

Bipolar Disorder / Conductive Disorder

Switch between two personalities. Second personality on trigger, disturbed. Mentally unstable.

Short blond hair, tall, muscular. Caucasian. Child-like speech patterns. Verbal tic: "da". No abnormal movements. Slightly self-conscious.

**Family**: Older sister _PATIENT 62._ Younger half-sister _PATIENT 63_. History unknown.

**Reason Admitted:** Public Disturbance. Attacked group of students at school. Other incidents (see_ Illness History_, file 61 page 9).

**PATIENT 62**

Braginskaya, Yekaterina

18

Moscow, Russia

Selective Mutism

Doesn't speak. Shy. Tendency to cry. Clings to_ PATIENT 61._

Short blonde hair, overweight. Doesn't speak. Caucasian. No abnormal movements. Shy. Self-conscious.

**Family:** Younger brother_ PATIENT 61_. Younger half-sister _PATIENT 63_. History unknown.

**Reason Admitted:** admitted by foster parents after _PATIENT 61._ Only speaks to _PATIENT 61_ and_ PATIENT 63_. Foster parents unable to cope.

**PATIENT 27**

Fernandez-Carriedo, Antonio

17

Madrid, Spain

Amnestic Disorder

Can't remember childhood or adolescence. Makes up memories.

Brown hair, lean-muscular, tanned. Caucasian. No abnormal movements. Doesn't seem to be affected by pessimism.

**Family:** No siblings. Lives with both parents. Good grades. Optimistic mood.

**Reason Admitted:** Worry of parents. Worry of school.

**PATIENT 75**

Honda, Kiku

17

Tokyo, Japan

Agoraphobia

Intense fear of leaving room. Must be with Dr. Robins or Heracles when out of room. Panic attacks.

Dark brown hair, thin. Asian. Speaks quietly in monotone. No abnormal movements. Shy.

**Family:** No siblings. Lives with parents. Good grades.

**Reason Admitted:** By parents.

**PATIENT 24**

Jones, Alfred F.

16

Washington D.C., USA / Toronto, Canada

Anorexia Nervosa

Obsession with exercise, refusal to eat. Suicide Risk.

Blond hair, on the thinner side, muscular, slight emaciation. Speaks well. Caucasian. No abnormal movements. Self-conscious.

**Family:** Half-brother_ PATIENT 25_. Lives with mother and father. Good grades.

**Reason Admitted**: By hospital after collapse at high school football game.

**PATIENT 48**

Karpusi, Heracles

18

Athens, Greece

Narcolepsy

Sleep attacks. Sleep paralysis. Night Terrors.

Brown hair, average. Caucasian. Speaks quietly. Lazy. No abnormal movements.

**Family:** No siblings. Lives with parents. Poor grades.

**Reason Admitted**: By Parents.

**PATIENT 89**

Lukasiewicz, Feliks

16

Warsaw, Poland

Gender Identity Disorder

Anxiety. Cross-dressing. Confusion. Believes self to be female.

Blond hair, lean. Caucasian. Speaks in the "valley girl" dialect. No abnormal movements. Shy with strangers.

**Family**: No siblings. Lives with parents. Average grades.

**Reason Admitted:** By parents.

**PATIENT 33**

Vargas, Feliciano

15

Rome, Italy

Dependent Personality Disorder

Difficulty with decisions. Needs help from others. Difficult disagreeing. Excessive lengths to achieve nurturing. Helpless when alone. Fear of abandonment.

Red hair, lean. Caucasian. Verbal tic "ve". No abnormal movements. Sexual arousal due to hair pulled.

**Family:** Older brother _PATIENT 32_. Lives with grandfather. Average grades.

**Reason Admitted:** By grandfather. Intense development after_ PATIENT 32_ admitted. Developed before. Unknown trigger.

**PATIENT 32**

Vargas, Lovino

16

Rome, Italy

Bipolar Disorder

Intense mood swings, depressed moods, extreme anger. Inferiority complex. Suicide risk.

Reddish brown hair, lean. Swears often. Caucasian. No abnormal movements. Sexual arousal due to hair pulled.

**Family:** Little brother_ PATIENT 33._ Lives with grandfather. Average grades. Lazy.

**Reason Admitted**: By grandfather. Incident at school. Attacked a student. Depression episodes. Cutting class.

**PATIENT 13**

Wang, Yao

18

Beijing, China

Avoidant Personality Disorder

Reluctant to participate. Feelings of inadequacy. Suicide risk.

Long dark brown hair, thin. Asian. Verbal tic "aru". No abnormal movements.

**Family:** Younger sister. Lives with parents. Exemplary grades.

**Reason Admitted**: worried parents.

_**Note: **_**Roommate**_**, PATIENT 9, **_**committed suicide. Monitor closely for signs of suicidal thoughts.**

**PATIENT 25**

Williams, Matthew

15

Toronto, Canada / Washington D.C., USA

Generalized Anxiety Disorder

Restless, panic attacks, trembling, fatigued, emotional.

Blond hair, lean. Speaks quietly, sometimes stuttering. Caucasian. No abnormal movements. Self-conscious. Attached to "kumajiro", stuffed polar bear.

**Family**: Older half-brother_ PATIENT 24._ Lives with mother and step-father. Good grades.

**Reason Admitted:** Admitted with _PATIENT 24_, by parents instead of hospital.

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><p>A spot is missing. Instead, there's a small slip, in between PATIENT 75 and PATIENT 24. Four words are printed:<p>

Im, Yong Soo

_**DECEASED.**_

A sheet of paper plans to take its "place". The sheet sits near the printer, ink cooling and solidifying.

**PATIENT 100**

Kirkland, Arthur

17

London, England

Schizoaffective Disorder

Known substance abuse, dramatic mood swings, depression, hallucinations, suicide risk.

Short blond hair, thin, pale. Caucasian. Speaks well. No abnormal movements. Talks to hallucinations.

**Family**: Abusive brothers. Lives with mother and youngest brother. Exemplary grades until age 15, dropped dramatically. Now Poor grades.

**Reason Admitted**: By mother after incident at school involving substance abuse.

**Note: It is not yet known if hallucinations are caused by illness or substance abuse. Monitor _PATIENT 100_ closely .**


	2. Abasement

Here's the edited first real chapter! Enjoy! Hopefully a second will be up later tonight!

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><p><strong> ABASEMENT<strong>

He's not supposed to be here. He's not crazy. He's perfectly stable, thankyouverymuch, and does not belong in a loony bin.

Except, apparently, he does.

Because at the moment he's sitting in the hallway of the facility (hospital), doing his best to appear composed (and failing). But keeping one's composure is particularly hard when fighting the onslaught of tears and insecurities that accompany abandonment in an unfamiliar setting after being told you're out of your mind.

It's not that he's a crybaby (because he isn't). It's just that he's literally alone now, quite miserably and utterly and painfully alone. Nothing can compare to this sort of betrayal. He felt alone before, but not_ truly_ alone. Is this the first time in his life experiencing this... emptiness of total abandonment? His mother doesn't want him; the school doesn't want him. Hell, it seems like the whole world didn't want him at this point. And who would? He's just been a nuisance to everything._ Really_, he thinks,_ they're better off without me. _

Which is what brought him here (along with the drugs and the alcohol and the hallucinations and the poor grades and the temper).

Maybe he does belong, on second thought (but admitting that would mean giving in and no _no **NO**_ he is _NOT_ meant to be here).

As the thought occurs, he emits a sudden, humorless laugh. The next thing he knows, he's having a full blown fit. Tears of mirth trickle down his face and there's an almost wild gleam in his eyes. Well, he certainly looks the part of a mental patient now.

The night nurse at the front desk gives him a look (as if he's insane) and it only makes him laugh more; because really? This is a goddamn asylum. He is insane, just like everybody else, and he doesn't give a damn who knows it. _When in Rome_.

Eventually (five minutes seems like a long time when they're spent gasping for air) his laughter turns into choked sobs. He picks up the crappy hospital pillow they've given him and squishes it to his face, attempting to quell the tears. He succeeds in dampening the pillow, but nothing else. He can barely hold back the hoarse wails that threaten to escape. His cheeks are red with embarrassment and he simply can't stop his bawling. The sound, once it reaches his own ears, is horrible: the pitiful moans and broken gasps for air. How can anyone stand crying? How can anyone stand _listening_ to crying? The noise makes him feel worse and leads to another round of tears. An endless cycle.

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><p>It's somewhere near the early morning when he drifts to sleep on the shitty camp bed they've set out in the hall for him (it creaks and has lumps). But his sleep is far from soothing. He tosses and turns, the crude pillow and scratchy afghan not helping (nor do the two orderlies having a loud and inconsiderate conversation throughout the night. Frankly, Arthur doesn't give a damn for their petty gossip and finds it very unprofessional for them to be disturbing the peace). He looks, and feels, even worse when he wakes up than when he fell asleep.<p>

"Arthur Kirkland?"

Upon hearing his name, he looks up, only to see a kind looking young man._ No, it's the sodding pizza man_._ Who else would be sitting out here? Moron,_ he thinks bitterly, looking wary.

"Dr. Tino wants to see you now!" The young orderly chirps, completely unfazed by the glower that Arthur was sure could melt stone. At least in the past it made those around him cower in fear. He supposes the orderlies were used to hostile feelings, though. He comes to the conclusion that the other man's cheery tone is an affront to the world on a whole at such a godawful hour. Especially when used in a nut house.

He's led down the hallway to a small office outfitted with a plain desk, bookcases full of irrelevant trinkets, and an old puke-colored couch. He grimaces but takes a seat, the springs jabbing uncomfortably at his ass. Was nothing in this infernal hell-hole comfortable? Or was that against Nuthouse policy?

Arthur involuntarily clenches his fists at the further aggravation. Really, at this point it seems as if the world was aspiring against him. He'd give anything to get out of here. He eyes the windows, noting their bars._ Well damn._ Is this a mental hospital or a prison? He's sure that somewhere in the fine print it's been said that they actually helped people; not treat them like dangerous criminals ( or animals).

Another young man walks in with a cheerful disposition, holding a stack of files. What the hell? this isn't a freaking modeling agency. Where are all the old, wizened doctors? Weren't Psychologists all supposed to be old and calculating? This man couldn't be a Psychologist. He's too young and optimistic and_ peppy_.

"Oh! Arthur! Sorry, didn't know you were here just yet," the man gives a soft chuckle. Arthur merely grunts in response, still lost in the surrealism of this whole situation. Dear lord, he already felt like he was in a bad eighties informational video. "Right, right. Let's see... Are you holding up alright?"

A deadpanned look. _What do you think, tosser? Do I look like I'm holding up alright? Aren't you supposed to, I don't know, be intelligent or something?_

"Stupid question, I know, hahaha! Sorry for the wait, we had to sort out a few things. But you should be able to move into your room soon! I just wanted to check in with you first."

Check in with him, is he serious? Arthur scowls, not even bothering to hide his distrust, making sure his hostile look is unmistakably directed at 'Dr. Tino'.

"Hahaha! Well, now that that's done, off you go! I'll send Toris back to get you when your room's ready!" Dr. Toris hurries Arthur out of his office and shuts the door. So much for "checking up on him".

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><p>So far it's been another two hours and no one has come for Arthur yet. However, he's getting quite up to date on the hospital gossip. He hadn't even been aware hospitals had gossip. Apparently, Nurse Elizaveta and Dr. Roderich have some kind of relationship. Arthur really doesn't care in the least, but these goddamn orderlies don't know how to shut their mouths.<p>

_You're paid to help people,_ he wants to shout,_ fucking do your goddamn job!_ He wants to scream at them, grab them, shake their shoulders, anything to get them to shut up because his life is _over_ and they're talking like stupid children who care about nothing but themselves and their selfish little world and he suddenly feels _so_ angry that he needs to punch something, fists clenching and unclenching, nails digging into his palms, leaving little bright red crescents. It's like a ball of fire in his chest, right above his stomach. He restrains himself, however, because it's doubtful that such behavior is tolerated. he'd mostly likely end up sedated, like the kid that barreled through only an hour ago, his hysterical shrieking ringing through the halls long after they had dragged him away. He doesn't want to end up like that.

Arthur hugs his knees to his chest, a glum mood settling over him, washing out the ball of anger inside. Would he be stuck in this hall forever? The looks he's getting from the orderlies are awful and do nothing to improve his mood. He's not a monkey at the zoo to be stared at. He's a person, god-fucking-dammit, and he has feelings, too. He doesn't need their damned pity.

A group of patients walk by and he attempts to curl up further into himself. It's probably breakfast since they seem to be going to the cafeteria. The group consists of seven boys who look to be around his age and now he positively wants to sink to the floor in embarrassment. Arthur had never been terribly self-conscious before, but now there's a nagging voice whispering sharply in his ear that they're all judging him: his rimmed-red eyes, pale cheeks, and unkempt hair. He probably smells too and he fights the urge to sniff his underarms. He had never been good at first impressions.

They pass by without a second glance, and for once in the past twenty-four hours, he visibly relaxes.

Toris soon comes to fetch him.

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><p>The room is small and he has a roommate. Arthur can't decide if that's good or bad yet but, considering the location, it's looking like a bad thing. At least he'll have someone to share the crazy with (thought the boy doesn't look too friendly).<p>

Yao Wang is a quiet Asian boy and Arthur is grateful for this small mercy. It's infinitely better than being put with a (surely) obnoxious American (or worse, _Frenchman_) and he's too tired to berate himself for stereotyping, not that it isn't true because all of the Americans he's had the pleasure of coming across are definitely obnoxious.

It soon seems like this arrangement isn't as much of a gift as he thought. His new roommate has yet to utter a word and Arthur certainly isn't going to be the first to speak so they sit there in silence. It's uncomfortable, to say the least, and in the boredom and awkwardness Arthur is hit with another wave of intense homesickness. Not that that does any good; this place is probably the closest thing he'll have to a home from now on, considering his current (past?) situation.

Luckily, Toris comes to pick them up and take them to something called 'clubs' (which is apparently just a stupid name for group therapy, according to Yao, who had finally decided to speak to Arthur. Thank God for small miracles. Not that Arthur believes in God; he gave up on religion a long time ago).

Arthur tries not to pay attention to the way Yao struggles when they leave the room and how utterly terror-stricken the boy looks. He feels awkward standing by the door while Yao looks utterly terrified. He swallows back a panic attack of his own, feeling completely hopeless. It always makes him want to cry when someone else starts crying, especially the prospect of the noise of crying and the act of seeing another person cry. His eyes almost tear up merely thinking about it. Screw empathy.

Toris looks like he's been in this situation many times, though, enticing Yao with a stuffed cartoon cat pillow. Arthur vaguely remembers the character as some silly product for young girls (but who is he to judge? He's in a Mental Hospital).

Eventually Yao gives in and the two are led down a maze of hallways, down the elevator, and end up in a room with lots of windows (all barred) and a circle of chairs. Dr. Tino is there, much to Arthur's chagrin, and so are three (four?) other boys and two (three?) other girls. Or maybe three boys, two girls, and a boygirl. He really can't tell, at least not from this angle (and he can't really bring himself to care).

"Ah, Arthur, Yao, welcome!"

Dr. Tino is much too chipper, in Arthur's opinion.

"Everybody, Arthur's joining us at our little home here! Let's introduce ourselves!"

_Don't speak in first person plural,_ Arthur thinks scornfully, _it makes you look like a prick._

The first boy stands, all arms and legs in an awkward, gangly mess. He smiles cheerfully, but it doesn't fit on his face, as if it's forced. "Hiya! I'm Alfred F. Jones! But you can call me Al! Uh... What are we supposed to say, Doc? Well, I like sports like football, the awesome American kind, not soccer, it's totally boring and un-heroic. Aaaaand... I think that's it!" Arthur decides this "Al" is obnoxious and should be sedated on the spot.

The next boy (or is it a girl?) stands. "Hi, I'm, y'know, Feliks, and uh... Yeah. Hi." Ah. So he was a boy and apparently shy, according to the pink stain on his cheeks.

"I am Ivan and we are going to be good friends, da?" A tall, pale boy stands, smiling widely at Arthur. He shifts uncomfortably. Something about Ivan doesn't seem... right. He shrinks back a little, feeling a slight chill.

"H-Hi, I'm Matthew, Alfred's little brother. S'nice to meet you " the blond keeps his head down, clutching a stuffed polar bear to his chest, trembling slightly.

"Likewise," Arthur grunts. It's the first he's spoken all day. His voice is hoarse from lack of use and crying hours earlier.

A rather chesty girl is supposed to speak, but instead she keeps quiet, tearing up. Arthur swallows thickly, wondering what, exactly, he did wrong (and if he's going to have to witness a sobfest which he's really not in the right mental state for), until Ivan speaks up again.

"This is my older sister, da? She is Yekaterina. She does not speak," he explains, somehow managing to sound childish. "This is also little sister, Natalia," he gestures to the girl next to Yekaterina.

"I can introduce myself, brother." Natalia glares, but reaches out to take Ivan's hand. The boy instantly panics and starts backing up with a wild, scared look in his eyes. He repeats something in Russian over and over (or what Arthur assumes is Russian. It could be any Slavic language, for all he knows).

"No touching, Natalia! Remember that!" Tino chirps, forcefully pulling Natalia away from Ivan. She glares, but sits.

_I'm surrounded by lunatics._

Oh, wait, that's the point.


	3. Abjection

Alright, actual update now! Sorry about that, if it caused confused with the other two chapters. I can't work technology. Once more, I apologize for grammar/spelling/etc.

Also, a disclaimer, since I forgot to add one in the Prologue: I don't own Hetalia or any of its characters.

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><p><strong>ABJECTION<strong>

The rest of the group therapy is rather uneventful. It's full of that hippy-feel-good stuff that always seemed so cheesy and fake to Arthur. He spends most of the time attempting to stare through the blurry window. He imagines it's raining outside. A steady rain, with low, heavy gray clouds that soaks and chills you if you stand in it long enough. Something that would fit his mood perfectly.

As time drags on, he finds himself growing incredibly tired. It may have been from the lack of sleep; it may have been from all the crying. The past twenty-four hours have been emotionally stressful. Maybe if he feigns sickness he can get out of it.

But wait. He's in a hospital. They won't fall for that shit.

Well fuck. He's stuck, then.

Arthur listens to Ivan chatter on happily about sunflowers, ignoring the probing questions Dr. Tino attempts to ask. They don't seem to affect the large (Russian?) boy, in a way bullets wouldn't. Ivan's older sister, the one with the huge knockers, hugs his arm tightly and whimpers in a way that can only be described as_ wibbling,_ but otherwise pays attention closely (though Arthur feels like this isn't the first time Ivan has told this story in the little club).

Alfred 'Al' is up for interrogation next and answered boisterously, at least at first. However, once the questions get too personal he quiets and subtly changes the subject.

Looking closely at Dr. Tino, Arthur can almost see him give an exasperated sigh. The doctor forces his usual perky smile and moves on.

The process continues with two more in the group (Feliks and Matthew). They're rather chatty until the questions get personal. The Brit is starting to see a trend here.

None of them want to answer such an interrogation in front of other teens.

The meeting ends early and it leaves Arthur to wonder if all 'club' meetings are similar.

Toris and Dr. Tino line up the eight teens (_what is this, primary school?_) and lead them out of the room. The only sound is the echoing of shoes. Arthur hasn't a clue where they're off to and anxiety pools in his stomach.

An awkward elevator ride later, the group ends up in a cafeteria.

Lunch.

Patients from all other wards of the hospital are littered among the tables, some with nurses and some without. None of the food looks appetizing in the least and no one seems to be enjoying it. In fact, one old man in a wheel chair keeps throwing his rolls across the table (something Arthur would find comical if his stomach weren't about to give up on him).

They group is led into a lunch line, of sorts. A small plaque states that spaghetti with red sauce, green beans, and chocolate cake are all being served. It all looks more like gunk to Arthur. None of the other teens look too happy either.

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><p>Arthur finds himself sitting at a table with one of the quieter boys from the group, Matthew. Ivan and his sisters are alone at a table, the former babbling away in a Slavic dialect. Yao returned to the room with Toris, for reasons Arthur doesn't know and isn't inclined to ask about. Feliks and Alfred are sitting together nearby, engaged in a conversation. Alfred doesn't touch his food.<p>

Pushing the death-colored green beans around his plate, Arthur notes another group of teenagers led in by a severe looking man (much more Psychologist-esque). The group is made up of eight boys, a few of them chattering happily (how anyone could be happy in this place is beyond Arthur).

None of them seem particularly interesting and he turns back to his plate. He doesn't try to engage Matthew in conversation and the boy doesn't seem to mind.

Their lunch continues in silence.

But not for long.

A distinctly French laugh shakes Arthur out of his present state of angst-ridden pondering.

_Fucking hell._

The owner of the obnoxious noise sits beside him, grinning lecherously. "So you are the new meat," he says in a heavy accent and Arthur wonders if he should feel violated in any way at all.

He merely grunts in response and watches as the French boy's friend, a tanned teen who's grinning in the most oblivious way, sits at the table.

"Hola, Matthew!" He also has an accent, something Spanish.

_Is everyone in this goddamn hospital foreign?_

"Ah, you are one of the non-speakers," Frenchie assumes, nodding as if he knows everything in the world. The rage from earlier this morning seeps back into Arthur and his fist clenches around his fork.

"Just because I _don't_ speak," he accentuates clearly, in a low tone, eyes flaring, "doesn't mean I _can't_."

Frenchie laughs once more, clearly amused. "It is nice to see someone with _spark_."

Arthur snorts and shoves a forkful of pasta into his mouth to keep from lashing out. _Remember the strait jacket,_ he tells himself.

Thankfully, Frenchie's Spanish-speaking friend comes to the rescue.

"I'm Antonio!" He reaches out to shake Arthur's hand, his grin widening, if that's even possible. The hand hangs there, ignored.

"Arthur."

"_Et_ I am Francis." Frenchie - _Francis_ speaks loudly, a slight frown sent in Antonio's direction. Suddenly, Arthur feels as if he's being fought over and he won't stand for it.

"And I don't care," he quips harshly, before returning to his meal.

Francis huffs and mutters something under his breath in French, something Arthur's sure isn't a compliment.

* * *

><p>The rest of lunch passes uneventfully, Francis and Antonio leaving as quickly as they came. Arthur's shiny newness wore off the moment he spoke and neither of the two boys are interested any more. Matthew had managed to remain quiet the whole time, as if he wasn't there. Arthur almost feels bad for forgetting about him. Almost.<p>

After lunch is a short break, time to rest in their specific rooms. Yao is napping in his bed. Arthur takes that time to shower (a quick five minutes with shitty soap and an orderly standing nearby) and change into the scrubs everyone seems to be wearing. The shower doesn't make him feel any better.

Toris comes to fetch them after an hour, once more struggling to remove Yao from the room. The boys are led to the room from 'clubs', but there's a different group there now. Unfortunately Frenchie (_Francis_) is there, along with Natalia. The other four teens Arthur doesn't recognize.

Psychologist man is running this group, face pleasantly expressionless. It's the first _real_ thing Arthur's seen since his arrival and he almost feels better about the group.

That is, until the man speaks.

"I'm Dr. Edelstein. Welcome to 'Games'. Today we'll be playing an introduction game, to welcome Arthur."

The urge to scowl returns tenfold. He doesn't feel very welcome.

"We'll go around in a circle. State your name and something you would bring with you on a trip."

Dr. Edelstein's voice is slightly monotone and almost annoyed, as if he'd rather be anywhere else.

Everyone is quiet, until an albino boy speaks up first, immediately grinning. He focuses on Arthur, smirking.

"Gilbert. _THE_ awesome. I'd bring beer. Duh."

A short, agitated sigh can be heard from Dr. Edelstein, but he doesn't speak.

"Natalia. A knife." No further explanation is given, but Arthur doesn't particularly want one.

"Francis," Frenchie winks at him, lips quirking. "_Et_ I would bring _un miroir._" Even with his small grasp of the French language, he can tell what Frenchie just said and isn't surprised.

A small Asian boy is next and his dead eyes look nearly traumatized. Arthur can see that he's shaking, too. "I am Honda, Kiku," he murmurs, looking at the ground. He says nothing else, but Edelstein doesn't press him for more.

The boy lounging at his side speaks up. "Heracles. A book."

"Ve," the next boy breathes out, smiling. He's the only one among them that seems to be happy. "I am Feliciano! I would bring... a pasta cooker!"

Gilbert groans, rolling his eyes. It seems the answer is typical of Feliciano.

"Yao. I would bring Shinatty." He doesn't expand upon who Shinatty is, but the rest of the group seems to know. Arthur is left with the peculiar feeling that it's a stuffed animal of some sort, perhaps the cat from earlier.

Swallowing, he realizes it's his turn to speak. Anxiety twists in his stomach. Shit, he can't think. His throat is dry and the room feels too warm. He can feel all its heat in his cheeks. Shit, shit. "Er, Arthur. Er... dunno."

"You have to answer," Edelstein interrupts. Silently, Arthur curses him. He didn't let Kiku speak, why does _he_ have to?

"I. Don't. Know." He grits out, fighting the urge to cross his arms petulantly.

No one speaks, but he won't give in.

After a few tense moments, they move on.

A few more games a played, but other then that the group isn't exciting, save for the lewd grins from Frenchie and arrogant comments from Gilbert.

* * *

><p>Arthur is called into Dr. Tino's office around three-thirty in the afternoon. He's sitting once more on the uncomfortable couch and he wonders if the office is a special kind of hell.<p>

"How has your day been?" Dr. Tino starts without even a hello.

A grunt.

"Have the others been nice?"

A snort._ Nice? Not exactly._

"Arthur, this isn't going to work if you won't speak," the doctor sighs. "I need you to talk to me. I won't bite, I promise. I'm here to help you."

_Right. Just like you helped ruin my life. _

A strange shiver came over Arthur and frowns, his skin prickling._ Shit,_ he really needed some of that China White.

Still, he refused to speak.

"Should I start with speaking about myself?" Dr. Tino didn't notice the pallid tone Arthur's face has taken on. He takes the silence as affirmation and begins chattering.

Arthur quickly tunes him out, mind slipping into overdrive. He can't remember the last time he had shot up.

Another spasm of shivers dance across his skin. He's definitely sweating and his stomach is churning in the worst way.

He_ needs_ it. He needs it_ now. _Fuck, he could cry!

"Dr. T," he rasps, cutting Dr. Tino off. "Dr. T, 'M not feeling so well."

The words are barely out of his mouth before he vomits.

Now the carpet matches the couch.

* * *

><p>For those who care to know, Francis said that he'd take a mirror on his trip with him. Also, from my understand 'et' means 'and' in French.<p>

Yes, Arthur is going through withdrawal from Heroin. From my understanding, Withdrawal can start pretty close (a few websites said a couple hours after last use). Apparently they get pretty bad 48 to 72 hours after and ease in about a week. But that's just the physical symptoms. The psychological last longer, according to several sites. If you have any helpful information about Heroin and Heroin withdrawal that you think I could use, feel free to tell me in a review or PM! Thanks!


	4. Bleakness

Here's the next chapter. I've been doing a little research on Heroin addiction and withdrawal and symptoms and all that jazz. Personally, I've never used it and have never gone through withdrawals, so I can't write from experience, which is a bit difficult. If you notice anything off or something that's wrong, please let me know! Thanks! Also, I fixed a few grammatical errors from the last chapter.

* * *

><p><strong>BLEAKNESS<strong>

Dr. Tino quickly ushers Arthur out of the room, eyes wide. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Arthur wonders if Dr. Tino has never had a patient get sick in front of him before. From the look on his face, he's assuming he hasn't. If the boy were in any other state, he would find it humorous. But at the moment, he can only focus on the sheer hell his boy is experiencing.

He barely registers the orderlies that hurry him to an isolated room and help him onto the bed. In less than a minute, he's off of it again, kneeling on the floor, heaving.

Once more, he's helped onto the bed. The shivering across his skins seems to dissipate and he's left panting, propped against the wall while sitting on the bed. A grumbling orderly is cleaning up his vomit and Arthur almost feels smug.

His legs are in pain, though, but that's not the worst.

It's his stomach.

Now that it's empty, the cramping begins. It's like his stomach is being ripped in two, fused together with fire, and then ripped again. An orderly tries to get him to drink some water, but he refuses, forcing himself to stand.

"Arthur, you can't," one begins, but he cuts her off.

"Fuck you! I can and I will!"

Walking eases the pain a little and he heads to the bathroom to brush his teeth, hoping the cramping will subside soon. It doesn't. The orderlies exchange looks and quickly follow. He just wants them gone!

"Leave me the fuck alone! I don't need you with me twenty-four seven! I'm not some kind of animal! Fuck, I just want to brush my teeth!" He turns and hits his fist against a wall, the rage igniting his veins. His irritability is making him clench his teeth and he wants to control his temper, but he _can't_.

Neither orderlies leave.

* * *

><p>The next week is hell.<p>

Arthur is herded into the isolated room once more, with a fresh set of clothes. They won't let him leave and he's frustrated to no end. The cramping never stops, but the yawning does ease it.

He doesn't think he's ever yawned so much in his life. It's almost never ending, but it's a pleasant change from the pain. He can hardly walk, though

The first night is even worse. Arthur's constantly tossing and turning. He's either in a sweat or in shivers, there's no happy medium. He doesn't fall asleep until close to dawn, and even then the dream is full of terrors. He knows that one hit of the drug could save him all this agony. He knows exactly what he needs (but they won't give it to him, goddamn).

When he wakes up the cramping is over, but his stomach is grumbling. It isn't hunger, though.

He makes it to the bathroom in the nick of time.

The orderlies wait outside. Apparently they've seen someone go through withdrawal before. They don't look comfortable, though. It isn't pretty.

Arthur passes the day in the bathroom, without any energy to move. They try to feed him but he refuses. He's not hungry and he knows it'll only make him sick (well, sicker). He passes out a few times.

The night is the same as the last. Tossing, turning, occasional vomiting. How can they let him live like this?

He begs them, when he's at his weakest. The middle of the night. Tearfully, he begs, the throbbing in his arm urging him on.

They ignore it.

If the first two days were hell, the third was like being on fire. Arthur could barely move from his bed, his whole being in sheer and utter agony. He was splitting in two, could no one tell? It blurred his vision and made him clench his jaw, just to hold back shrieks of pain. His skin feels like it's being ripped off in small portions all over and he's sure he's soiled the bed more than once. He can't control anything. Small convulsions wrack his body but the jitters hurt.

And yet they still refuse to provide him salvation. They're cruel, demonic beings.

Arthur wonders if they work for Satan.

* * *

><p>Eventually, the week ends. Eventually, Arthur's body returns to normal.<p>

They allow him out on the sixth day and twenty minutes to shower, instead of seven. The water is still cold, but it feels so goddamn wonderful against his skin, like bathing in the tears of angels. For once, his body isn't on fire. He feels human again.

He spends an even longer amount of time brushing his teeth. The orderlies are kind for once. Perhaps it's the fact he's no longer shrieking. Perhaps it's the fact he's no longer a time bomb of irritability.

Yao doesn't ask where he's been as he's returned to the room. Arthur wonders if they told him and he's vaguely angry for the doctors doing so without his permission.

Despite the worst being over, there's still that nag. A small voice, in the back of his head.

He still wants the drug. There's a phantom throb in the crook of his arm, where the scars are. He still needs the drug.

* * *

><p>Well that sucked.<p>

/scurries off


End file.
